Trading Knowledge
by Inusagi
Summary: 5th Year Hermione is secretly laying back-up plans and attracted the curiosity of a certain Potions Master. M for Later Chapters.
1. Chapter 1: Muggle Studies

Trading Knowledge

Summary: 5th Year Hermione is secretly laying back-up plans and attracted the curiosity of a certain Potions Master.

Disclaimer: The Potterverse does not belong to me.

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE**: I started this story several weeks ago. I went to update it a couple of days ago, and it was mysteriously vanished from my interface. I have no idea why. So I decided, trying my hand at optimism, that this was the perfect chance to "upgrade" as it were. So, chapters 1-9 will be basically the same, but more detailed and longer. Some chapters may be combined for improved flow. I'm really sorry to all the people that commented/faved the original posting…this is beyond my control

Chapter 1: Muggle Studies

Hermione Granger was sitting in her usual nook in the library, working through her Sociology homework. Of course, it wasn't part of the Hogwarts curriculum and she suspected that she would never have cause to utilize a Muggle university degree. It was all a part of her backup plan, however. And if Hermione was ever sure of anything, it was that hoarding knowledge made executing plans possible.

She was completely absorbed in her essay on the Milgram experiment. It was absolutely fascinating to her and she couldn't help but wonder if such things would apply to the first war with You-Know-Who. Were all of the Death Eaters sadistic, cruel monsters that enjoyed tormenting Muggles, Muggle-borns and Blood Traitors, or were they simply conforming to their social network and obeying orders? When she started reading about the experiment, in which participants were asked to push a button to send electrical shocks to another human being for getting some trivial answer wrong. And then again and again, with increasing voltage. They heard recordings of agonized screams from the next room and fully believed themselves to be the cause of such intense pain of another person. And yet, an astounding sixty-five percent of participants went ahead and administered an astounding, potentially-fatal 450-volt shock. Even if one were to survive that level of electricity, it was a sure rival to the Cruciatius Curse.

It also made her think of Professor Umbridge, with her loathsome Blood-Quill. Hermione was hearing rumors of its use in her detentions and suspected she saw a glimmer of "I must not tell lies" on Harry's hand. Why would students allow her to force them to administer their own torture? Was it her authority as a Hogwarts professor that made the students believe they had to follow her orders? Those quills were illegal. She'd read about them immediately after hearing of their use. Its only purpose was to inflict pain. Were Hogwarts students exactly like participants in Milgram's experiment? Were, equally, some of the Death Eaters simply normal, everyday Witches and Wizards unable to defy an authority figure?

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a quiet baritone voice behind her. "Muggle Studies seems to have become...quite advanced since I was a student."

Hermione turned in her seat so quickly she fell out of it and reached for her wand as her bum hit the hardwood floor.

"Oh, put that away, you silly girl," Professor Snape snapped, an amused smirk playing across his harsh features while reaching out a long-fingered hand to thumb through her text. "What exactly are you doing with these? I am well aware Professor Burbage still believes Muggles use gramophones to play music."

After standing and straightening her skirt, Hermione quickly shuffled her papers away. "My parents wanted me to have a Muggle education as well," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

Snape regarded her pensively for a moment. "You're lying. Why are you taking Muggle classes, Miss Granger?"

Gryffindor bravery momentarily escaping her, Hermione shifted her weight uncomfortably. Quick thinking wasn't exactly her forte. She was a girl far more suited to developing intricate plans and then following through with them. "Well, they were pleased when I continued. But, no, they didn't force me to take on so much. They think I'm a bit mad, actually." She chuckled nervously. Professor Snape just continued to look at her, waiting more patiently than she would have thought the Head of Slytherin was capable of. She caved. "It's a back-up plan, sir. In case You-Know-Who wins,"

"I fail to understand how Muggles zapping one another will save you from the Dark Lord, Miss Granger," he said, clearly amused.

She hedged. "All knowledge is valuable. There are many, many things that are identical in nearly all cultures. It isn't as if Muggles and Wizards are entirely different species, Professor. I've read conjecture that it's merely a single chromosomal difference—similar to the way that missing a single chromosome causes a condition known as-"

"Honestly, girl. I did not ask for a monologue on how Wizards and Muggles should hold hands and frolick through a field of daisies. What. Are. You. Up. To."

"It's from a Muggle university," she sighed, gesturing to her bag. "I got my secondary school degree during the summers and was accepted to a Scottish University not far from here. Really, only a couple of hours driving distance. That's how Muggles transport themselves without magic. In cars. They're sort of like flying carpets with wheels but made of metal and—"

"Get to the point, girl," he snapped. Ah, there's the Professor we all know and...loathe.

"If You-Know-Who wins, I can rejoin the Muggle world. I can snap my wand and get a job. I'll be qualified for a job. I can use a university degree to get a job overseas, and protect my family. He won't be able to find me."

His face was softened again by that pensive expression. Hermione thought, apropos of nothing, that he was quite handsome when he wasn't sneering and scowling. "How do you find the time, Miss Granger? Your Hogwarts studies seem to take quite enough time. How do you handle this timetable, as well?"

Hermione felt the color drain from her face and promptly studied her shoelaces. It took all of her concentration not to clutch her Time Turner protectively and shrugged unconvincingly. The left lace on her right shoe was beginning to fray…

"Miss Granger-" he began warningly.

"Oi, Hermione! There you are! Merlin, how do you get here so quickly?" Hermione's eyes widened, then rolled at Ron's inability to shut up or pay attention. "Oh...er, hullo Professor Snape..."

Snape nodded curtly, still peering at Hermione suspiciously. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, robes billowing behind him.

"What was that all about?" wondered Ron.

"Oh, shut up, Ronald."

A/N Well, there ya go. The revised version of Chapter 1! I added approximately 400 words to it. Some of it was relatively meaningless to the story—mostly the bit about Milgram's experiment, which, by the way, is an actual experiment we've learned about in Sociology. I think that Hermione would be the person most likely to do her darnedest to connect what she learns in the Muggle world to what she learns in the Magical world, and vice versa. I also think that OotP was around the time our favorite bushy-haired Gryffindor began to realize that not everything is black and white.


	2. Chapter 2: Suspicion and Confrontation

Chapter 2: Suspicion and Confrontation

Disclaimer: Not mine. But..I do like to imagine what it'd be like if it were. Does anyone else suspect JKR is secretly obsessed with reading/writing fanfiction? I'm hoping that one day she sees all the lovely theories of how Snape survived Nagini's attack people write and says "Hey, you know what? Snape *didn't* die. The trio only thought he was dead!"

Of all the things that irritated Severus Snape, (and Merlin knew, that particular list was long) the mischievous twinkle in Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes was what irked him most. He couldn't quite place his finger on why, but even as a student, it had given him the creeps. As an adult, after he deserted the Death Eaters, he learned to tolerate it. Mostly because Severus made it a point to maintain as much self-restraint as he possibly could muster.

Now, as he sat across from the Headmaster's desk, his employer's eyes positively gleaming.

"What brings you here, Severus, my boy? It is unlike you to pay a social call." Ah, great. Now I'm being teased. I knew I should have waited until breakfast...

"I was wondering about the official school policy on Time Turner usage," he said, almost off-handedly.

"Too much research, not enough time, Severus?"

The old man was grinning at him now. The Potions Master couldn't tell if it was good natured teasing or if he was being goaded. Albus certainly knew that between teaching, stocking the Hospital Wing and being at the Dark Lord's beck-and-call there was no time for his research. It was something that galled him to no end. After all, what was the use in being one of just three Potions Masters in all of Great Britain if he couldn't create new concoctions or improve upon elixirs?

For the sake of gathering information, Severus smoothed away the scowl he knew was forming on his face.

"For students, Albus," he snapped. "I have a rather clever second-year. I was hoping to approach him with the possibility later this term."

"Which student? I'd rather thought the second years had yet to come into their own. After all, term only began a few weeks ago."

"The younger Derrick boy. Peregrine, while gifted on a broomstick, was as dumb as a bag of gobstones," Thank Merlin he'd graduated. He was an embarrassment to Slytherin, really. Cunning, indeed. "Mauritius, on the other hand, has shown quite a gift for Potions. Minerva has said he excels in her subject, as well." It was partially true. Mauritius Derrick was, according to McGonagall, brilliant in Transfiguration. Unfortunately, he was as dismal in Potions as all the other disgusting little mouth-breathers he taught.

Dumbledore regarded his Potions Master seriously, as if trying to see through Severus's sly subterfuge. "Well, I'm afraid the Board of Governors has banned the permissive use of time-altering devices for the time being, if you'll forgive the pun. A few decades, at least," he said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. "They believe it provides too much temptation for such young witches and wizards. As I'm sure you know, the ability to influence the fabric of time can be addictive."

"But the Granger girl was given one-"

"And was asked to return it at the end of her third year. She...used it much more than she should have, as it turns out. There was always a Hermione Granger to be found in the Library, one in class and yet another asleep in Gryffindor Tower, bless her heart,"

Dumbledore was chuckling, clearly amused that the bushy-haired little swot had been breaking the rules, yet again. Severus scowled. If she didn't have the school's time turner, how was she taking Muggle classes?

The Headmaster was rambling on. "And I'm sure you remember William Weasley's misadventure? He woke up, horrified that he'd missed the date he'd had planned with his sweetheart and rushed right to her side. Where his Doppelganger already was. Poor girl had quite the fright. I ran into her in Hogsmeade just a few weeks ago, her hair is still stark white, if you can believe it."

Severus wasn't listening. How did she get out of the school to get to that Muggle school? Surely Muggles didn't attend university by owling it in? No, no_._ Muggles don't use _owls_...

"So I'm afraid Mr. Derrick will need to resign himself to only as many courses as his timetable will allow,"

"Who? Oh, yes, of course. I won't mention it to him. I'm sure he'll be content with that..."

Severus excused himself, still puzzling over the over-achieving Gryffindor.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Hermione gathered her bags, relieved. She'd been so worried about Professor Snape confronting her during Potions that she nearly skipped it. She briefly (and only half seriously) considered "tripping" down the stairs, but that foul Umbridge woman had appeared at the bottom of the stairwell and Hermione had not wanted to deal with her after she landed. She did, however, spare a chuckle when she realized she'd rather deal with Professor Snape, feared by all, than that ugly, toad-faced bint. So, after nearly two days filled with anxiety of being caught out, of all her carefully laid plans to be upturned, she was doing a little internal dance as she made her way out of the Potions classroom.

Unfortunately, it only lasted until she reached the doorway.

"Miss Granger, stay behind."

Stifling the urge to stamp her foot like a spoiled toddler, Hermione shot Harry and Ron an apologetic look. "I'll catch up..."

Professor Snape waited until the last of the students—which were, predictably, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson—shuffled out of the classroom before shutting and warding the door with a lazy wave of his wand. He leaned casually against his desk, arms folded across his chest as he peered down at her over his large, hooked nose.

Hermione always marveled at that, if she were to be honest. He wasn't an overly tall man-certainly taller than she, but not very tall for a man. Yet somehow he always gave the impression of looming over them all.

"I am going to give you a chance to come clean, Miss Granger, on how you are accomplishing all of that additional schoolwork," he drawled. Hermione wondered, hysterically, if he practiced that air of indifference in the mirror each morning. "You have exactly thirty seconds to do so."

The bushy-haired Gryffindor gazed uncomfortably at the clock on the wall to her left as the seconds crept by.

10 seconds. What would he do if she did confess? Would he have her expelled?

15 seconds. But then, at this point, being expelled may not be her worst option...

23 seconds. After all, confessing her escape plan in the event of a Muggle-born genocide to someone known to carry the Dark Mark seemed like bad form. At the very least, it was poor strategy.

29 seconds. No, she would keep quiet.

Professor Snape smirked, and his eyes shined with something that looked strangely like—but simply could not be—pride. "Very well. Are you aware that unauthorized Time-Turner usage can result in 5 to 7 years in Azkaban, Miss Granger?"

Hermione gaped.

"Where did you get it?" he asked. His voice was strangely devoid of its usual frostiness. The dark man simply sounded curious.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, sir. I...used a Time-Turner in 3rd year, all the professors signed off on it, even you, Professor," she knew she was stammering like an idiot and she cursed herself for it. Even more so when Snape smirked.

He looked very much like the cat that ate the canary.

"Very well, Miss Granger. I would like to tell you, then, what I believe to be going on." He paused for dramatic effect. "You were forced to return that Time-Turner at the end of your third year, after having gone gallivanting off with monsters and murderers. Last year, after the Dark Lord made his encore appearance, you panicked. Being the temporal addict you are, undoubtedly you managed to either steal a Time-Turner device or purchased a stolen one. Stealing, you may be interested to know, is another 8 to 14 years amongst the Dementors."

Again he paused, grinning somewhat sadistically as he allowed that bit of information to sink in. "And all of this for what? To play Muggle? Is it all for an elaborate game of hide-and-seek? Do you honestly believe you can cut off your magic?"

Hermione just shifted uncomfortably. She didn't know what she should say, if anything.

"I am not a patient man, Miss Granger. I commend your stoicism, but now is the time to begin speaking." His features softened into a sardonic smile. "Under normal circumstances, I am unable to convince you to shut up."

"If...if..." she began.

"What you say in this classroom will not leave it," he said softly.

"If I were to have a Time Turner...and I certainly do not...but if I did, it would be to attend these classes, the Muggle ones that you saw the other day in the Library. As I said, I intend to be able to slide into Muggle life if I need to. The Muggle world works differently than ours does. Here, you only really need to sit your NEWTS and do decently to do nearly any job. Certainly, there is training and apprentice programs, but they're relatively short and-"

"I understand how our world works, girl. Get on with it."

"Yes, well...the Muggles require additional education and a degree or degrees before the training truly begins," she continued, mildly annoyed at his interruption. "What I'm trying to do...certainly without use of illegal Time-Turners...is to earn those degrees so I can earn enough Muggle money to take care of myself...and probably Harry and Ron, too."

"If you were to have a Time-Turner," Snape started slowly.

"Which I do not."

"Certainly not." Wait...was that a note of teasing in his smooth voice? " But if you were to have one...how would you be using it to accomplish this?"

"_Hypothetically_, I would use it to be in two places at once, of course. Surely, that much is obvious, Professor." He glared. "I would go back approximately 8-10 hours on days I had classes in Aberdeen—that's where the University is—and sneak out of the school, to the point where Hogwarts' magic stops interfering with Muggle technology and drive to class,"

"And just anyone can go to these universities?"

"Oh, no. You have to have gone to Muggle school, and to sit your A-levels. They're kind of like NEWTS. Then you have to apply to the school, get accepted, and generally take placement exams to tell you what kinds of classes you can take before enrolling. You know, whether you're clever enough to start off in difficult courses or if you need remedial classes first,"

Just as Hermione began to consider how alarmingly, charmingly different he looked with his features smoothed out by that elusive thoughtful expression, her Professor frowned. "That sounds...awfully complicated, Miss Granger."

"You sound almost disappointed, sir."

With a sigh and his trademark flourish, he returned to his seat. "You are dismissed."

Thoroughly confused but unwilling to push her luck, Hermione fled the classroom.

A/N: For fun fact purposes: Peregrine Derrick was a Beater for Slytherin. Mauritius is another type of falcon.

Also, I'm American, and as an American college student, I barely understand how American colleges work. That being said, I did *try* to research the UK's system. I had an a-ha moment about A-levels and NEWTS like I did about Scotch tape being called Sell-o-tape over there (Get it, Spellotape?) So…My British readers (and I know you exist, for fanfiction-dot-net tells me you do) if I'm wrong, please tell me so I can fix it! Please review! Lots of love!


	3. Chapter 3: Moral Quandries

Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm as destitute as a prostitute, as my grandma would say. Though, I'm pretty sure most prostitutes make more than I do. Anyway, JKR owns it. I'm just playing with it. Sharing is caring, Jo!

Chapter 3: Moral Quandries

Severus Snape sat in his threadbare armchair in Spinner's End, head in his hands. He needed to calm himself, to regain his stony mask of composure before returning to Hogwarts. He'd nearly prefer dealing with the Dark Lord when he was in this kind of mood than cheerful bloody Dumbledore and his horde of snot-nosed children.

He considered himself to be a man of morals. The horde of snot-nosed children would undoubtedly scoff at that particular notion, but it was true. He'd even joined the Death Eaters to preserve those morals.

Yes, the Dark Lord's campaign had descended into nothing more than mindless, brutal madness, but in the beginning...in the beginning it had simply been about hanging on to a way of life, of the noble traditions and values of an ancient, magical society. It hadn't even been about Muggles and Muggle-borns until the last few years of the first war, not really.

Merlin knew, Tobias Snape had not painted a very positive portrait of the Muggle way of life to Severus, consumed as he was with alcoholism and domestic violence. Nor had growing up in a mangy mill town, where crime and poverty were a part of everyday life.

Perhaps that's why he was so fascinated with the Granger girl's harebrained scheme. She seemed so sure of herself, like she could flawlessly step into a life she no longer belonged to. He'd watched hundreds of Muggle-born students pass through Hogwarts over the years he'd been teaching. Every single one of them had tried to hang on to their Muggle roots, only to be pried away like a gnome from the Whomping Willow. Miss Granger was the oldest student he'd witness still embracing that part of herself. It was astounding. It was as if being a Muggle was just as much a part of her as being a witch.

Severus slumped back in his chair and stared blankly into the sooty, unlit fireplace. He hadn't been so ashamed of himself in a very, very long time. He could convince himself of his own moral fortitude until he turned as blue in the face as a Cornish Pixie, but the moment he caught wind of an attractive alternative to winding up dead, in Azkaban, or permanently kneeling at the feet of a psychopath at the end of this blasted war, he grasped onto it like a man demented. All of those morals vanished.

He cast the Imperius curse. On Muggles, no less. He could think of no other way. That was how he justified it to himself.

He hadn't been on record in the Muggle world since he was a child. He hadn't even finished primary school—he decidedly did not play well with others, as his teachers had repeatedly told his parents. Every time he'd lose his temper, unfortunate things would happen around him, the Muggle children would be scared, and the teachers would be patently confused. He hadn't meant to perform the magic, of course, but once his mother and grandfather tired of Obliviating the primary school staff, he was home schooled.

He couldn't get into this Muggle University without records.

_He had to have the records_. He kept telling himself that it was necessary. It was a plan for survival. It was that rabbit-toothed girl's plan, but he planned to take full advantage of it.

He _Imperio_'d a Muggle man at the secondary school he'd have gone to if he hadn't attended Hogwarts into taking him to the records room, where he duplicated some random swot's grades and added his name to it. Thankfully, Severus was old enough that his records would not be on those whats-it boxes. Cup-porters? Competers? Something or another. Computers. That was it. Peculiar things, indeed.

He'd done the same thing about the A-levels the Granger girl had talked about. Unfortunately, they _were_ on the computer boxes. Getting the Muggle girl to trade those things out was enough to give him a migraine. What could all of those buttons possibly be for?

Lastly, he applied to the university. He'd actually had to tail the Gryffindor Prefect to discover where it was, but he managed it. And, since one may as well be hanged for a dragon as for an egg, he cast one more Imperio to make sure his file appeared favorable, and cast a small compulsion charm on his application.

The Imperius Curse was an Unforgivable, a Dark Curse with a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. They'd never know it was him, of course, but still. It had been a long time indeed since Severus had performed an Unforgivable. Surely, though, to the Gods if not to wizards, it was intent that mattered, not action. What was a few _Imperio_s followed by _Obliviate_s if no one was hurt?

He had to have the records. Didn't he? How else could he have done it? He obviously didn't have time to repeat Muggle secondary school. Not to mention that he was far, far too old for it.

He had to have the records. That was all. He didn't hurt the Muggles. Severus knew that prolonged exposure to Memory Charms in Muggles caused dementia. But one or two charms in a lifetime were harmless. Especially when only removing a few moments of memory.

They weren't harmed at all. Perhaps a bit confused but that happened all the time, didn't it? After all, Filius Flitwick was positively infamous for walking into a room to get something only to immediately forget what it was.

He had to have the records. He _didn't hurt the Muggles_.

He didn't hurt the Muggles. It was necessary for a survival strategy. It was completely justified.

But still...He was definitely not telling the Granger girl.

A/N: Hope that wasn't too boring, and that it was self-deprecating enough. Thanks for reading! Please review!


	4. Chapter 4: Tips and Trade

Disclaimer: As Shultz would say "I own nothing!" Coincidentally, I don't own Hogan's Heroes anymore than I own Harry Potter.

Chapter 4: Tips and Trade

She was, as usual, in the Library. The remarkable thing was, one couldn't actually _see _her. She had books piled around her like a haphazard, dusty fort. Madam Pince, the sharp-eyed librarian, generally frowned upon this hoarding of subject material, not out of any sense of fair play amongst students but out of sheer exasperation at having to re-shelve thirty-five books at once.

Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she had taken the time to form a kind of mentor/mentee relationship with the vulture-like bibliophile. It had taken a few terms, but eventually she'd been convinced that Hermione was, in fact, responsible and capable enough to re-shelve her own texts. The Gryffindor secretly felt a smug sense of satisfaction about this; not even the Ravenclaws had as much free reign in the Hogwarts Library. Given that Madam Pince was favored the Ravenclaws as badly as Professor Snape favored the Slytherins, that was saying something.

No sooner had the train of thought passed through her mind than Severus Snape strolled through the section Hermione had claimed as her own, searching the shelves. _Speak of the devil,_ Hermione thought, _and the devil appears_. It had been weeks since their classroom tête à tête and she was still wound up like a spring. She willed herself to focus on _Code: Curious Clandestine Communications_ by Custodis Whisper.

_How do I secretly communicate with over two dozen students…Passing notes would surely get us caught. Maybe something like the Diary from second year…but then, that possessed Ginny and set loose a massive, coldblooded monster to kill us all. No, surely not. What about… _

Hermione distractedly gnawed at the tip of her quill.

"You know, feathers are relatively disgusting. I wouldn't put that in my mouth if I were you, Miss Granger, lest you wind up in the Hospital Wing."

Her head snapped up, and her heart jumped into her throat. She actually HAD gotten lost in her research and had quite forgotten he was even in the Library, let alone hovering over her.

Surprisingly, the professor didn't smirk, sneer or make a biting remark. He simply sat an envelope in front of her and took a seat at her table. Hermione stared at the envelope for several long moments, completely disbelieving. It was a Muggle envelope, made of plain white paper and a familiar logo. No thick, brownish parchment. No wax seal. Simply stamps and glue.

_Robert Gordon University. Aberdeen, Scotland. _

Hermione numbly opened the flap and drew out the folded paper.

_Mr. Tobias Snape, _

_We are pleased to welcome you to Robert Gordon University…_

Professor Snape seemed to be watching for the moment comprehension dawned on her face, for he began speaking. "I would like to propose an arrangement between us, Miss Granger."

"A-an arrangement, Sir?"

"I would like to be a part of your contingency strategy. To be able to integrate into Muggle society if need be. I realize, of course, I don't know much of the culture after the 1970s, but given time, I could either brush up on that information or play it off as an old man's silliness. I do read Muggle literature, so it may not be so very difficult." He actually sounded more like he was convincing himself.

"I don't understand, Professor. You're not making sense…"

"I would like you to…tutor me. In this Muggle school, in their customs and whatnot. I would like to be qualified to live as a Muggle."

She thought he sounded like an alien version of himself. He was calm, even tempered and polite. "But…you have classes to teach…most of the classes here are during the day…"

"I know a certain Prefect that does _not_ have a Time Turner for such things," he quipped. He leaned forward, eyes intense. "I'm willing to…trade. This is about potential survival, Miss Granger. If you can assist me in better surviving that world, I will teach you how to survive this one. I will tutor you in Advanced Potions, Healing and defending yourself against the Dark Arts to an extent you would never learn in a classroom."

"Not that we're actually learning Defense with that foul woman, anyway," Hermione said scathingly before she could stop herself. Severus merely chuckled.

"In addition, there would be significantly less travel time if I were to accompany you. I can Apparate. I can _legally_ operate a car—you know, those metallic flying carpets with wheels? I may be out of touch, Miss Granger, but I certainly know the driving requirements and have my license to do so. Half the boys in my neighborhood were mad for cars the way wizards are mad for brooms. You are not old enough to be driving. I can help. You would, obviously, not be losing anything but time." He leaned back in his chair and added "And you go through that like water, anyway."

Hermione opened and closed her eyes several times, unsure. She didn't know whether to believe him, whether to trust him, or even whether she could take on that kind of undertaking. Was this a trap? A trick? Some odd, off-the-wall prank?

Then he did the unthinkable. He smiled.

"I can see you need some time to mull things over," he said, quietly, while pulling a nondescript black-feather quill out of the breast pocket of his robes. "This quill has been enhanced with a _Protean Charm_, Miss Granger." He put considerable emphasis on the name of the charm. "You need only to tap it with your wand and dictate your message. I have an identical item that will gently heat when there is a message. It works both ways." He was still grinning. It was unnerving and pleasant all at once. "It is for _discrete_ communication, even at a distance. Say, from Gryffindor Tower all the way to the Ravenclaw Common room."

He stood, deftly whisking away his envelope into his breast pocket. "Please consider my offer, Miss Granger. There is a good deal of very _useful_…advanced…challenging things I could teach you."

And with that, he was gone.

A/N: I'm actually kind of glad the original incarnation of this story was mysteriously deleted. I'm having a blast adding to it and editing it. Please leave a review! People who review receive my undying love. 3


	5. Chapter 5: Communication and Progress

Disclaimer: These are Jo's pawns. They're just moving around on my chessboard.

Chapter 5: Communication and Progress

Uncharacteristically, it took Hermione several hours to consolidate her thoughts into clear questions. Her mind, instead, immediately jumped on the concept of the Protean Charm for their private defense group. She'd been wracking her brains trying to figure out a way to communicate that wouldn't be easily traced or confiscated. She checked out six books mentioning the charm and one on token Transfiguration. Thanks to Professor Snape, she had a plan.

Once the distraction faded—which was only after she had conjured and charmed around 30 false Galleons—she started to twirl the raven-black quill between her fingers. She had so many questions, so many worries, but she didn't know how to go about communicating with Snape. Obviously, she understood the mechanics of using the charm by now, she simply didn't know how to begin. He'd never been what Hermione would call "approachable."

_Oh, well_, she decided. It was nearly dawn on Saturday morning. Even if he thought her question to be stupid, she wouldn't have to deal with his scathing sarcasm until Potions on Monday. She tapped the feather with her wand and spoke quietly to it. "Why would you need to hide? If You-Know-Who wins, surely you would have a place in his society." The words appeared in small, white script as she said them.

Hermione sighed and situated herself under the covers, setting the bag of charmed Galleons and her wand on her bedside table. She couldn't bring herself to lay the feather down quiet yet, lost in her questions and fantasies of what kinds of magic the professor could teach her. She was just beginning to drift off when the feather started to heat.

_I'm offended that you believe I would desire to live in such a world. _

She supposed that was fair. Even if she was the purest of Purebloods, she would want to walk away from the world if it came to Voldemort's utopia. She snatched up her wand and tapped the quill again. "Why did the letter say Tobias? _Hogwarts, a History _said your first name is Severus."

Her eyes didn't leave the quill until it warmed again. _Many times, Half-bloods have two names. The name on their Muggle birth certificate and the name the Book of Names at Hogwarts and the Ministry records at your birth. As far as the Muggles are concerned, my name is Tobias. It was my father's name and he had insisted upon it. Severus was my maternal grandfather's name and my mother's preference._

Professor Snape was a Half-Blood? The Head of Slytherin, of all people! Hermione was astounded. It was an awfully personal answer (_from Professor Snape_!) and that was quite an impressive amount of text for a feather. She really wanted to explore how many words the quill would hold, but knew that now was not the time. She tapped it once again with her wand. "Please don't be offended, but how do I know that this isn't some sort of…trick?"

_Miss Granger, I can assure you, you would be completely unaware in the event of my tricking you. I am, in fact, taking a very large risk in being candid and honest with you. The Dark Lord would have my head if word would reach him._

Hermione knew before she'd asked that she was being ridiculous in even thinking he was deceiving her. Somehow, deep within her very being, she knew that Severus Snape was a man she could trust.

She was beginning to become seriously drowsy, but tapped her wand to the obsidian feather once more. "How would we arrange lessons? A lot of what I'd have to teach you would need electricity and such, and it would be hard for you to teach me here with the High Inquisitor of Toads and I can't do magic outside of school."

Minutes ticked by. Hermione thought perhaps he had gone to sleep.

_You would have to decide on a location that met your requirements. Your lessons, indeed, would have to be off of Hogwarts grounds. I know an adequate place to do so, fully equipped with a lab if we were to need it._

Yawning, Hermione could only think of one more question. "How did you manage to get accepted if you never took A-levels?"

The answer came swiftly. _Unimportant. Go to sleep, Miss Granger. And do not chew on this quill the way you do your own. _

Hermione, however, was asleep as soon as the question left her lips.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A week later, Hermione Granger stood nervously in the Hogwarts Dungeons. She kept battling herself, changing her mind constantly over whether this was the right thing to do. After all, he could be a genuine Death Eater, with devious plans to kidnap her and take her to You-Know-Who to mess with Harry. It was possible. But it also struck Hermione as very vain. Surely she was not important enough to warrant undue attention from You-Know-Who.

On the other hand…it wasn't as if Harry had many people close to him.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked sharply on Professor Snape's office door. She heard his rich, baritone voice mutter a distracted "Enter" and stepped in.

"Ah, Miss Granger. What a…pleasant surprise. And how are Mr. Potter and the two Mr. Weasleys fairing after their stunt on the Quidditch pitch this afternoon?" Hermione could see the almost demented pleasure on the potioneer's face.

"Do you actually care?" she snapped.

"Of course not," he answered, waving his long-fingered hand dismissively. "Not for their sakes, in any case. I do not appreciate that that insufferable woman now has additional disciplinary powers, but it may interest you to know I handled Draco Malfoy. His actions were a result of poor sportsmanship,"

"His insulting rhyme, you mean?"

"Oh, no. Jeering at players is a completely acceptable practice. Intimidation tactics are part of any serious sport. That ginger imbecile should have ignored the chant, charmed himself temporarily deaf, or used the Slytherins as motivation to excel. No, I was referring to Mr. Malfoy's behavior afterwards—his disgusting display of sour grapes, as it were. They were far too obvious tactics for Slytherin. In addition, I have always enjoyed a pleasant relationship with Arthur and Molly Weasley. They are good, hardworking people…and I knew Potter's mother in school. She was a lovely young lady…" A lost, pensive look appeared on the professor's face. He seemed to forget that he wasn't alone and Hermione thought she saw a flicker of grief in his obsidian eyes before he schooled his features.

Hermione was puzzled. As much as Professor Snape has always hated Harry and as hatefully as he talked about Harry's dad, Professor Lupin and Sirius, she had assumed that he felt the same way about Harry's mum. Deciding that it was none of her business, she stepped around his desk and stood close enough to him that she could touch him if she'd wanted. He sneered up at her, a disgusted look twisting his features.

"Miss Granger, there is such a thing as personal space."

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. "It is 6:43 in the evening. Please remember that."

Reaching up, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. Professor Snape looked at her in abject terror, but she had no idea what he was possibly thinking. The look of relief that passed over his face when she pulled the chain of her Time Turner from under her uniform was comical, to say the least.

She looped part of the chain around his neck, accidentally brushing his cheek with her fingertips.

"Is this the Time Turner that you emphatically do not possess, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically awkward.

"Yes," she answered simply and spun the dial.

A/N: Sorry for the chapter spam! But, on the bright side, my chapters are now 1000+ words instead of 600ish. ^_^


	6. Chapter 6: Math and Music

Disclaimer: Still not mine. If *I* had Time-Turner, does anyone care to guess who would have published the Harry Potter books? That's right. This girl. If only because I'd make Severus survive. Haha.

Chapter 6: Math and Music

Severus was a stranger to Time Travel, and found that it was significantly less uncomfortable than traveling by Apparition or Floo, but not as seamless as a Portkey. It took him a moment to shake off the soft whooshing feeling, though he tried not to let the girl see. It took him a moment more to realize that they were near the Hogwarts Gates.

"How did we get here? We'd been in the dungeons…"

"When you go back in time, you go to the point where you were at the time you are going back to. I always start my days with a jog to the Gates. That way, I know that I'm always going to be alone when I go back," she said, in what seemed to Severus to be a single breath. What is it with teenage girls that they must always talk so damn fast? The girl had always reminded him of a chipmunk, all teeth and nervous twittering. "Um, I was reading about Apparition and according to _Apparating and Disapparating: A Beginners Guide to Magical Transport_, as long as you are able to picture a place in your mind and—and it's unwarded, you should be able to Apparate there. Is that true?"

She brought him out to the gates for a lesson on Apparition? Severus could feel his patience running thin. "Yes. It is slightly more complicated than that, but a clear vision of where you are attempting to appear is the foundation."

The Gryffindor pulled a photograph out of her robes and handed it to him. She looked as if she was questioning herself and she was ready to bolt at any second, so he took it immediately. Snatched it out of her tiny hands, really. It was a photograph of an empty sitting room. There wasn't a single person in the photograph, just a sofa, a few small tables and a recliner. Severus furrowed his brows and looked at the chit, silently willing her to explain.

"Can you get us there?" She asked, starting to gnaw at her bottom lip. Definitely a chipmunk.

Severus glanced at the photograph again, grabbed the girls arm (albeit more roughly than was absolutely necessary) and Disapparated.

When they landed in the sitting room, Severus released her just in time to avoid being vomited on.

"That—that was horrible! Why do people do that? Oh, God. That was just awful."

The Professor couldn't help it—he laughed. When the girl looked at him balefully, he Vanished the mess and said "Oh, stop being so dramatic. Nearly everyone gets sick the first time. You'll be fine from now on. Your magic will adjust to the sensation."

Now she looked sheepish. Merlin, was she always so expressive? Damn Gryffindors. "I-I'm sorry. Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm…going to go brush my teeth."

Severus bit back a nasty comment on the time it must take her to brush her abnormally large teeth until she disappeared into a hallway to his right. Moving around the sofa to the mantle, he took in his surroundings. The furniture was covered in ghastly pastels and the photographs that lined the walls were hung so straightly that it was neurotic. He stepped closer to inspect the photos. A young, curly haired man in a suit was beaming as he danced with a brown-haired woman in a wedding dress. The same brunette smiled at the camera holding a tiny infant swaddled in a pink blanket. Several more photos of the couple with a girl with large teeth and uncontrollable hair at various ages.

Obviously, this was the Grangers' home.

Shuffling footsteps alerted him that Miss Granger was done with her teeth. "If you'll follow me, Professor Snape, we'll start."

Silently, he followed her back through the dark hallway. The room she stepped into was exactly as he'd have imagined Miss Granger's bedroom to be, if he had ever bothered to imagine it. The walls were practically covered in bookshelves, an old cauldron on her bedside table held dozens of envelopes with broken wax seals. A chalkboard covered in Runes hung on the wall above an unnaturally organized desk. One of those obnoxious computer boxes sat atop it.

She clapped and smiled up at him. "Well, Professor, let's get started! Today, I think we'll go over some Maths, since you've got to take that placement test. Did you take Arithmancy when you were at Hogwarts?"

"I am still at Hogwarts, Miss Granger. But yes, I did sit my NEWTs in the subject. I was not aware Muggles studied Artithmancy."

She was just a bit too cheerful when she answered. "Oh, they don't. But in lots of ways, it's very similar to Algebra. We're going to go over that today, and I'm going to teach you how to use one of these!" She pulled out a large, black device with several buttons and an obnoxiously small, greenish screen. "It's a graphing calculator. I used to think that calculators were…well, cheating, until I got into the higher maths, where things were so much more complicated. They're required in my classes. We'll have to get you one when we get your books, but you can learn off of mine for now."

Why was she so happy and excited? It was kind of creeping Severus out. And Severus spent a good deal of time in the company of a snake-faced sociopath. He knew creepy.

She started out by testing him—_testing him, for Merlin's sake!_—on what he already knew on the subject. She had an inordinate amount of material prepared and showed him the calculator with more patience than he ever had when he taught her Potions.

"Not that the Muggles know this, but Pythagoras was a wizard. That's part of the reason Arithmancy is so similar to what the Muggles do. Lots of it has the same foundation."

They worked for four hours until Miss Granger announced that she would make lunch. Severus didn't point out that, according to his body's clock, it was somewhere around one in the morning. He was, indeed, feeling a bit peckish. He continued working on the calculator device while she shuffled (didn't the girl ever pick up her feet?) into the kitchen. Well, he pretended to work on the calculator, in any case. The tiny green screen was beginning to give him a headache because he left his reading glasses at the castle. He heard Miss Granger click on the radio as she worked.

Standing up to stretch, Severus decided to see what she was doing. Once inside the rather roomy kitchen, he was very amused indeed. Miss Granger was dancing to radio while putting together sandwiches. Her small body kept time pretty well with the music, but the madness of her hair swayed with its own momentum. It took Severus all of his willpower not to laugh at her. She looked ridiculous. And then she started to sing.

"And all the roads that lead you there are winding." Her voice was deeper than he'd have expected, though it might be that she was singing so quietly. "And all the lights that light the way are blinding."

Deciding that he'd skulked enough, Severus cleared his throat. "That song is absolute rubbish."

Miss Granger laughed. "I quite like it." She sat two plates and two glasses of juice on the table and sat down. He followed suit. "Oasis is the band."

Severus snorted. "It's insipid. Hardly real music."

Amused lights danced in her brown eyes, reminding him of Albus. "Oh? Well, what do you prefer, then? What is _real_ music?"

"I rather enjoyed Queen," he said in between bites."And Led Zeppelin."

"My father likes Queen," she allowed. "Some of their songs are nice."

He had to hand it to her, really. In just that one sentence, she made him feel as old as Dumbledore. _My father likes Queen_, he mocked in his mind. Damn chipmunk.

Neither of them seemed to know where else to go in conversation, so they settled into an uncomfortable silence while they finished their meal. Severus stepped outside for a quick cigarette as she washed and put away the dishes—he suspected the Grangers' did not know they were there.

Then back to that infernal, tiny green screen.

A/N: Oasis's _(What's the Story) Morning Glory? _was a chart topper in October of that school year. Led Zeppelin and Queen were both popular in 1976, when Severus would have been 16.


	7. Chapter 7: Werewolf Catnip

Disclaimer: JK Rowling, the creator/owner of the Harry Potter series is a wonderful, wealthy British woman. Inusagi, mother of a two year old, is a poor American college student. C'est la vie.

Chapter 7: Werewolf Catnip

The Potions period seemed to be crawling. They were re-doing the potion they'd done earlier in the week. She'd gotten hers right the first time, so she was left with reading up on the next potion, which she had also already done. She amused herself for a bit by making lesson plans for the Potions Master, but she didn't know how quickly he would progress and didn't want to get _too_ ahead of herself. She'd been doodling little cauldrons in the margins of her papers for what had surely been hours before the class was dismissed. Relieved, she gathered her papers and turned to leave.

"Miss Granger, a word."

Hermione spun around, as the Muggles say, on a dime to face him. Her mind went into overdrive. Did he notice her not paying attention to her book? Was she in trouble? Did she mess up her essay on the uses of Dittany? Did he have a question about calculators? Were they finally going to start her lessons? Did he want to scrap the whole project and turn her over to Azkaban for her Time-Turner?

Professor Snape scoffed, but at what, Hermione hadn't a clue. With a smirk, he asked "What do you know about the Wolfsbane Potion?"

She swallowed nervously.

"The Wolfsbane Potion is an extremely complicated potion that relieves the feral qualities lycanthropic transformation. It is primarily comprised of aconite, which is generally poisonous to werewolves, but also has Glumbumble treacle and moonseed, which is generally poisonous to humans, but fortunately not to werewolves. It takes three very difficult hours to brew but needs to cure for six weeks. It also has a more limited viability range than most potions. If it is not used within three months from the time it finishes curing, it will cause the drinker to remain a werewolf forever. It was originally manufactured by Damocles Belby in—"

"Yes, yes quite enough. Do you regurgitate text books in your other classes, or is it just Potions?" he snapped, massaging his temples. Her eyes were drawn again to his gracefully long fingers.

Hermione fidgeted. "Mostly yours, sir. In the other classes, I…take to it so much faster."

"And that relates to memorizing text books how…?"

"If I know what I'm about, I don't have to fall back on the material as much."

It honestly made her nauseous to admit that she wasn't very good at something, that a type of learning didn't come naturally to her. Professor Snape's impatient gaze softened—rather oddly, in Hermione's opinion.

"That's your problem, Miss Granger. You memorize. You don't learn. I likely own all of the Potions texts you're reading and certainly know what they say. Repeat back everything you said to me, in your own words."

He waited patiently (Gosh, it was unsettling when he was patient!) while she ordered her thoughts. "It tames werewolves, makes them retain their own mind," she began. "It is made of frankly alarming quantities of aconite, which would generally kill the drinker. The moonseed counteracts that, its poison to us, but it's like…werewolf catnip. The Glumbumble treacle makes it so that the drinker stays sane, instead of some giddy psychopath with fur. I think the treacle is what makes the potion react so badly with attempts to sweeten it. Both sugar and honey are fatal to Glumbumbles."

"Mostly correct and highly preferable. I quite like the phrase 'werewolf catnip.' Perhaps Father Christmas shall send Lupin a bushel of it," Snape chuckled darkly. "In any matter, that is what we shall be brewing tomorrow. This evening, I'd like you to study the sections on the potion in these books," he gestured to four battered-looking books on his desk.

Wolfsbane was so advanced, she could hardly believe it. She knew the professor wouldn't enjoy cheery prancing, so she tried to keep it inside. "Why tomorrow? Why can't we do it tonight?" she asked eagerly.

Snape stared off into the fireplace, which lit with neither wand flourish nor incantation. "I have an…appointment. It would not do to arrive exhausted after a day of brewing and I am unlikely to return in a state fit to work on something so complex. Tomorrow will do."

Hermione understood at once what he meant by that. He had to go to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What did he mean about returning in an unfit state? Surely, it was just talking, right? Why would You-Know-Who torture his own followers? No one would follow someone who hurts them, right?

"No need to worry, Miss Granger. I am, as they say, a big boy. I can care for myself," he said dryly. "Go—read. Absorb. Be in my office ten minutes before the dinner bell rings tomorrow evening. And remember, your own words are more important than showing off your memorization skills."

The Gryffindor collected the tattered books and left the classroom. Sometimes, she had the uncanny feeling that Professor Snape could read her mind…

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Severus hated werewolves. If he'd ever had any ambivalence to them, it was torn to shreds when that mongrel Black lured him to Lupin's hideaway. It was a terrifying experience from start to finish. Not to mention humiliating. Moments before Potter had yanked him out of the tunnel, then transformed himself into a massive, antlered deer (Severus refused to call him a Stag. It conjured images of manliness and majesty that James Potter was not capable of), his bladder had emptied down the front of his trousers.

At least none of the little miscreants had ever brought that up. He may have actually murdered them if they had.

His hatred for lycanthropes had only increased when Fenrir Greyback and his merry band of carnivores had joined the Dark Lord's ranks. They were disgustingly easy to keep under control. The only thing they asked for was a monthly…snack.

This had quickly turned into a spectacle, appealing to both the crowd's blood-thirsty voyeurism and the Dark Lord's wishes to warn anyone who would dare double cross him.

Severus was to provide the moonseed…Werewolf catnip, as the little chittering chipmunk had said…The euphoria it provided the beasts made for a more interesting show.

Keeping his face a stoic, expressionless mask, he took in his surroundings. A group of nude, terrified Muggles huddled in one corner of the silver-wrought cage. 4 women. 2 men. Clothes, the werewolves said, got caught in their teeth.

Death Eaters, many of whom had discarded their paper-white masks for better viewing, leered and spat at the frightened Muggles. More still gathered around Travers, placing bets on which of the victims would be torn apart first, which would survive the longest and which would suffer most.

As the werewolves began to transform and the Muggles terrified screams became bloodcurdling, Severus Snape stood passively, quietly and obediently at Lord Voldemort's left side.

When the last survivor, a girl who couldn't be a day over twenty and looked alarmingly like his…no, not his...Gryffindor's little chipmunk backed herself in the corner closest to him, she looked directly at him. Her brown hair was frizzy and slightly bushy from the fray and her chocolate eyes stared intensely into his for a moment before the powerful jaws of Greyback crushed her skull. The girl's blood, warm and sticky, splattered on Severus's face and robes.

A/N: Now we're getting into new stuff!

In _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ the Glumbumble is a grey, furry, flying insect that produces treacle, which induces melancholy. It also hides with bees and messes with their honey somehow. I have no idea if Damocles' surname is Belby, but in the Slug Club, it's mentioned that Marcus's father doesn't get along with him well, so I'm guessing they're brothers. Moonseed Poison, I think, was in the HP TCG. All other Wolfsbane-related trivia was completely made up by me.


	8. Chapter 8: Chipmunk Concubine

Disclaimer: *insert legalese that should be common sense*

Chapter 8: Chipmunk Concubine

Finally, completely and utterly exhausted, Severus Apparated to the Gates of Hogwarts and trudged up the too-long pathway to the castle.

It had been a long night. Visions of the bloodbath and the snarling faces of werewolves weren't likely to fade from his retinas any time soon.

Lighting a long-needed cigarette, the Professor turned his back to the harsh Scottish wind and studied the castle in silence. The windows of the Great Hall, as usual, gleamed with candlelight. The Headmaster's office was also easily spotted, lit with a distinctive glow that could only belong to a phoenix.

Only one other window in the entire castle radiated light—the kind of false, bright light that could only be wand light or from those fluorescent thing-a-majigs that Muggles used with their lamps. Severus could barely make out a flurry of brown hair and a tattered, crimson-colored book that he reckoned must have been one of the tomes he leant her this evening.

For some reason, the fact that Miss Granger was taking this all so seriously, with so much commitment made him feel infinitely better. One way or another, there was going to be a way out of this ridiculous mess of a world.

If the Order triumphed, he could create and modify hundreds of thousands of new potions, ones that would make life easier for every witch and wizard in the world.

If the Dark Lord triumphed, he could flee. Move to Greece or Brazil. Anywhere, really. Live a life free of the harsh, cruel realities that came with taking the Dark Mark.

Finishing the last, relaxing drag of his cigarette and taking a deep, calming breath, Severus Snape began is journey to the Headmaster's chambers.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Six Muggles. And for reasons unknown, he also killed the younger Yaxley brother. Not the Unspeakable. The one that works in the newsroom of the Prophet." Severus slumped down in his chair. "I suspect he wasn't useful enough. The Dark Lord has been trying to get ahold of that Skeeter vermin for months now, but somehow she always manages to escape. Yaxley kept telling tales of cornering her in a windowless room in a building reinforced with Anti-Apparation wards, but she was still managing to get away."

"Hmmm," was Dumbledore's only comment.

"Merlin only knows why he'd make up such a story. Might have been suicidal. No one makes themselves seem incompetent while kissing the Dark Lord's scaly posterior. Idiot."

"Anything else to report?"

Severus stifled a yawn. "Have Shaklebolt, Tonks and Moody keep an eye on Pius Thicknesse. I overheard a few of the ones clever enough to keep their bloody masks on bandying his name about. I don't know what it means, but it was a bit too intense of a conversation to be disregarded. He's an Auror, I believe." 

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes somber and melancholy, though Severus supposed that he could just be tired. "A high-ranking one, in fact. He serves directly under Amelia Bones."

The dark man nodded. "There is another issue I would like to approach, while we're alone. After tonight's…events, I am concerned that it is unwise for me to be the only Order member capable of brewing the Wolfsbane Potion. With Lupin and his recruits, it could be extremely…unfortunate for them if I were to find myself on the wrong end of the Dark Lord's anger." 

"We went over this, Severus, when Remus taught here. There is no one else capable of brewing that potion. You'll have to continue doing so."

He knew Dumbledore was growing impatient with Severus's prejudices against the furry little savages. But he also realized his mentor was missing the point.

"I'm not attempting to shirk my responsibilities, Albus. I intend to continue making the damned potion." Severus, too, was growing impatient. "If I am killed, you need someone who can brew it in my place. I want to teach the Granger brat to make it."

"She's a child, Severus…"

"She brewed a perfect Polyjuice Potion when she was in her second year, in a bathroom with nothing but a ratty old textbook to guide her. If she can do that, she can certainly learn in a laboratory setting with one-on-one instruction."

"The responsibility…she's so young, my boy…"

"Bullocks. I already mentioned the possibility to her. She's practically chomping at the bit in excitement." And she was too. She was a chipmunk, yes, but a chipmunk with a very real hunger for knowledge.

The old wizard stood, looking bone-weary and impatient. "Very well. But you're not to have the girl brew it _for _you, Severus Snape. I'll not abide your blind hatred."

As Snape left the office, he sneered bitterly. Ally or not, Albus Dumbledore was always eager to believe the worst of his spy. Bloody fucking poof. He was trying to save lives, to help people. Not rest on his laurels while some brunette concubine toiled away at his responsibilities.

Concubine? What in the hell was wrong with him? Frumpy, buck-toothed Hermione Granger was hardly _anyone_'s idea of a concubine, let alone his.

He needed some bloody sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sleep did not come that night.

Images of screaming Muggles, ripped to shreds filled his mind's eye. Chocolate-brown eyes through a silver cage transformed into Miss Granger, pleading for her life as the ever-disgusting Fenrir Greyback crushed her skull with his unnatural jaws, destroying her gifted brain, her bright future.

Somehow, between memories of the Dark Lord's laughter as he killed one of his loyal followers and werewolves positively dripping innocent blood from their filthy muzzles was Hermione Granger, the seductive concubine. His imagination saw her in a belly-dancer's costume, sheer fabrics of emerald and crimson sliding over her smooth, pale skin as he watched her complete task after "task" for him.

And so, Severus Snape lay awake until long after dawn, staring blankly at the stone dungeon ceiling and hating himself more than ever.

A/N: Okay. That's it for tonight. I'm exhausted! Part of the last chapter was completely new, and this chapter was completely new (and wasn't even part of my original timeline, so three cheers for random Muses!) I hope you enjoyed it! Please review ^_^


	9. Chapter 9: Beautiful

Disclaimer: See previous chapters. If it wasn't mine then, it isn't mine now.

Chapter 9: Beautiful

Hermione arrived to Professor Snape's office door twenty minutes early, bubbling with excitement. She imagined the snarky dungeon-dweller being unhappy at her early arrival, so she paced the length of the corridor—from the far torch to the stairwell and back again—and mentally recited the steps in brewing the Wolfsbane Potion.

Since her first Potions lesson after coming to Hogwarts, Hermione had become _absolutely_ determined to impress Professor Snape. While other Professors we quick to praise and encourage her, the best she was ever able to acquire from the dark potioneer was "Adequate."

This, Hermione was sure, was her chance. She _could_ impress Professor Snape in these one-on-one lessons. There was nothing to distract him, no Neville to whisper instructions to grating on his nerves, no Slytherins to pretend in front of.

Always wanting to be prepared, she had filled a Muggle notebook with every bit of information she could find on the Wolfsbane Potion. She had scoured the material Snape had lent her, practically absorbed it and created a comprehensive step-by-step instruction table with color-coded ingredients and annotations for every utensil, every stage and every possible mistake that could cause the potion to be anything less than perfect.

Hermione swore to herself, before finally rapping her small knuckles on the thick dungeon door, that this would not be another Polyjuice fiasco. No stupid mistake would ruin this for her, embarrass her.

There would be no rogue cat fur in this potion.

It half a heartbeat for Professor Snape to wrench open the door. His dark eyes glanced up and down the corridor quickly before yanking her in by the elbow.

"You would be a ridiculous spy. Considering that for your plan to work, people must not know anything about it, you are inanely obvious."

"Wh-what? I just knocked at your door, Professor. That's hardly suspicious!" she half-shrieked. Why was it, she wondered, that he always made her so…indignant?

Snape rolled his eyes. "After loitering in the hallway for nearly half an hour."

She chewed on her lip to stop herself from replying. It wasn't likely she'd win an argument with the Professor. To her knowledge, no student before her had.

"Let's get a move on. Potions don't brew themselves."

Well, he was certainly in a good mood today. Hermione pulled the chain of her necklace and offered it to him before palming the dial. He stilled her hands with his own—Merlin, his fingers were long!—before extracting it.

"Allow me," he said, before spinning the hourglass.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x

When the world spun back into focus, she panicked slightly. Professor Snape must not have been at Hogwarts this morning. Dark, dusty wooden walls and rickety, threadbare furniture stood in place of Hogwarts' ancient stone and suits of armor.

Hermione Granger was not a witch who enjoyed not knowing where she was. "Wh-where are we?"

Snape just looked at her, his expression that of a man eyeing a mosquito, and pulled her along by her elbow. "Upstairs, Miss Granger. The lab, however, is downstairs. Cease your chatter and come along. We're on a schedule."

The lab was, indeed, downstairs. The basement didn't appear as abandoned or neglected as the other room, so she supposed that it must be used more often. The Professor flipped on the light switch and Hermione took in her surroundings. The lab was meticulous. Each ingredient—some Hermione had never even heard of—was labeled and shelved in the most orderly organization system she'd ever seen on the right side of the room. Completed potions, equally organized, were on the left. She was about to tell him how impressed she was when he spoke.

"Electricity runs through the entire house, but is only ever used here and in the kitchen. My eyes are used to Hogwarts' candle and firelight. This damn fluorescent lighting gives me a headache, but it allows for better precision in preparing ingredients." As he talked, he moved to a large table in the middle of the room and shrugged out of his cloak. "I laid out the ingredients we will need for this potion, lest you destroy the shelving system."

Again, she was opening her mouth to reply—of course she wouldn't destroy his system!—when he spoke again. "What is the first step?"

"Slicing and pulverizing the aconite." She replied. He must not have believed she read the books he gave her. He sighed.

"Wrong. The first step is—and always is—inspecting. Check the quality of your ingredients, clean all surfaces and instruments, and inspect your cauldron for defects or imperfections."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden and looked away. It was something that they rarely bothered with in class, a novice thing. It embarrassed her to no end to disregard such a simple process.

Her self-chastising was cut short by his long-fingered hands on her chin, forcing her to meet his dark gaze. "I'm not calling you out to humiliate you, Miss Granger. Most of the potions you have worked with in the past are simple and mostly harmless. In this potion, something as simple as a dent can melt the entire cauldron. This is one brew you _do not_ want on your flesh, if it doesn't explode on contact with the fire first. Less than fresh ingredients render a less effective concoction." He spoke in slow, even tones. Patient, even. "A less effective concoction is of no use. I assure you, there is no difference between a feral werewolf and a somewhat feral one."

Releasing her chin, he gestured to the table and passed her a pair of dragon hide gloves. "As it stands, I inspected these this morning. You may start by sorting out the bruised flowers."

They worked in a strangely comfortable silence for a long while, broken only by the Professor's instructions and the simmering _pop_ of the silver cauldron. He quizzed her, his voice rarely rising above a whispering volume, at each step of the process.

Hermione did all of the grunt work, but it was a-okay with her. Chopping, pulverizing and whisking (Merlin, that Glumbumble treacle was so thick it was almost unholy!) were much better, in her opinion, than nervous fidgeting and gave her something to focus on to resist the urge to pepper him with questions.

Mostly, she watched him brew. It reminded her, almost, of going to the ballet when she was very small. Every move he made was calculated, methodical and graceful. The sneer that seemed glued to his countenance relaxed into a peaceful, nearly blissful expression. It was captivating. It was as if he was born just to brew potions. He was, in that moment…

Perhaps it was the toxic fumes shimmering off of the cauldron, but in that moment, Hermione Granger thought Professor Snape was absolutely beautiful.

A/N: Happy Easter! The next installment will find our Miss Granger incapable of keeping her questions to herself! Fun times! **Please review! **


	10. Chapter 10: First Aid

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 10: First Aid

As the latest batch of Wolfsbane began its slow simmer, Severus considered his next step. Now that she had assisted him with the potion, he intended next month's batch to be brewed entirely by the girl, who was now watching him with a strange, wondrous expression on her face. They had only been at Spinner's End for around four hours, so obviously he would need to teach her to brew something else before they could return to Hogwarts.

She had done well, Severus begrudgingly admitted to himself. He supposed she could have a very talented touch with potions if she ever got over her incessant need to regurgitate textbooks. Not in the least, he was impressed at the lack of incessant questioning on her part. Perhaps she was growing more mature.

Drawling out instructions to label several decanters with today's date, the date exactly six weeks from now and the expiration date, he climbed the basement stairwell and deftly found his way into the kitchen. Casting a distracted Warming Charm on the food he'd nicked from Hogwarts' kitchens before he'd come by this morning, he made a mental note of what potions would be most useful for healing and survival, what ingredients the little witch should keep in her little triage kit.

Severus Snape had no questions on who the brains of the Gryffindor Trio was and suspected that, more often than not, it was Miss Granger that kept the Potter boy alive. In the "What if…" scenarios that plagued his mind when he attempted to sleep, Severus had decided that Miss Granger and the youngest Weasley boy were sure to accompany Potter if he were to flee.

How long would they be able to stay alive? Did any of the three have enough know-how to rough it?

Weasley was an imbecile. A menace, really. Potter wasn't much better, but he had sworn an oath to do everything within his power to ensure that the boy with emerald green eyes survived. To ensure that Lily, his beautiful Lily, had not died in vain.

That left Granger. Despite her highly annoying classroom habits, she had proven to be only _mildly_ annoying when dealt with directly.

He was of the opinion that the Potter brat couldn't save himself out of a wet paper bag, let alone save the Wizarding World. With everyone insisting that it was on Potter's shoulders to do so, it would invariably wind up Miss Granger's responsibility to deliver him safely to whatever small role he would play in ending the Dark Lord.

He was fortunate, really, that he'd discovered the girl's plan. It gave him a backup plan of his own and the chance to protect Potter without anyone realizing he was doing so. It seemed the winds were finally in his favor, as his Grandfather would have said.

Sighing, Severus descended once more into the basement lab and motioned for the girl to follow him through a doorway. He led her into his personal study and sat the tray of food down on a small table between two large, plush chairs near the fireplace. After a quick flick of his wand, flames roared to life and filled the room with warmth.

Miss Granger looked around, seemingly caught in between awe at the amount of books hoarded on his shelves and the décor. "Its…cozy. I would have expected lots of green and black, not blue and mahogany,"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Are the only colors you tolerate blood red and garish, gaudy gold?"

"N-no. Of course not. But you only ever wear black, Professor. Or your House scarf to Quidditch games."

"I seldom see you out of your Hogwarts uniform, Miss Granger, but I refrain from making inferences on your personal preferences based on your attire. Look around you," he said, sweeping a casual hand towards his bookshelves as he lowered herself into one of the armchairs. The girl did the same. "Do you decide what kind of information you can glean from a book by the color of the cover?"

The girl had the good sense to look ashamed of herself, at least, but didn't speak.

For a blessed, blissful moment.

"Is this your home, Professor? Do you only come here during the hols? Where are we?" Merlin, did she even breathe between questions?

The raven-haired man felt a headache creeping up from the base of his spine. "Never you mind. Where we are or what I do during my holidays are little concern of yours, girl."

Fortunately, that shut her up rather quickly. For a short while, they ate in awkward silence.

"I hope," he said, "that you paid attention today. Next month you will be brewing it alone. I have also been giving our lessons some thought…before we move on to any Defense projects, I believe we should cover Potions more thoroughly. I believe it would be useful for you to build a…first aid kit of sorts."

"So…we're not going to be working on Defense?" she asked, crestfallen.

"You're as bad as the Umbridge woman, telling me what to teach. Does all of that hair prevent you from hearing me?" he snapped. "We _will_ work on Defense. I simply believe that it would fall along your best interests to first focus on Healing and Potions. I realize headstrong Gryffindors are apt to think the only way to save yourselves is to wave a wand and block a curse, but survival—real survival—is about whether or not you can survive outside of Hogwarts. Do you really think the Dark Lord is merely going to waltz into Hogwarts? This war has been going on for longer than you've been alive. It is very likely going to go on for a good deal of time longer. You will see battle, Miss Granger, with your idiot friend Potter. I am sure of that. You may find yourself Apparating from a battle if you're outnumbered. I can tell you on good authority that good many wartime injuries are from Splinching when Apparating out of battle. Essence of Dittany could heal most of the injury and prevent infection." He spoke with passion, impatient anger showing in his every word. "I suspect you'll also need to be there to hide with him, if necessary. Nutrient Replenishing Potions are essential if you can't build a fire to cook or are hiding in a barren place. If you're injured in battle, a Blood Replenishing Potion given within minutes will mean the difference between life and bleeding to death. You will need to learn spells to repair gashes, mend broken bones, reduce fever or prevent hypothermia."

Taking a calming breath, Severus raked his fingers through his dark hair and continued. "Fighting is the part of war everyone thinks of and remembers, but it is not all of it. Before the Dark Lord fell, many people simply went on the run when their families were threatened, only to be found frozen to death in some forest or starved in a cave. And I can think of at least six Order members who succumbed to infection from battle injury or Splinching. Surviving a battle makes witches and wizards feel invincible. They are not. If you'd rather spend valuable time learning the Entrail-Expelling Curse, fine. But I'll thank you to not come crying to me when Potter or Weasley bleed to death."

Later, as he sat in the Great Hall—finally—having his supper that he may have been too harsh on the girl. But he could cross Skele-Gro off of the list of potions she needed in her First Aid kit.

**A/N:** Sorry. That took longer than I expected it to. For reference, I expect this to be a long story. I have 25 chapters outlined and that only brings us to the end of 5th year. I also have parts of 6th year already written (Muse striking and all that). I'm not sure whether or not this is worthwhile to continue. Please don't take this as begging for reviews, but I'm not getting much feedback and I am starting to suspect my story is boring

So…sorry if it is.


	11. Chapter 11: Gold and Paper Owls

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Chapter 11: Gold and Paper Owls

Severus pushed breakfast around on his plate, vaguely considering getting an anti-nausea potion from Poppy Pomfrey, though he knew that in the end he wouldn't. Those kinds of potions didn't work on anxiety.

He tried to tell himself that he was too old to be fretting over an exam, that this was nothing like taking his NEWTs, hardly important at all. After all, he could always forge these results the way he'd done the others, if it came down to it. Aside from which, this wasn't for a _grade_, it was a placement exam.

Still, he found himself wanting to prove to the Granger girl that he was, in fact, learning. Over the past few weeks, she'd been absorbed knowledge from their clandestine tutoring sessions like a Lobalug in water. It had sparked a sort of…competitiveness in Severus, to see which of them could soak in more and which of them proved to be the better teacher. It was silly, he knew, but he could not seem to help himself.

He was enjoying the Muggle lessons far more than he'd imagined he would. On their fourth lesson in her London bedroom, the chit had bossily announced that if he were to succeed in living a Muggle life, he would have to be versed in Muggle pop culture, so she sat him in front of the telly to watch movies in between all of her equations and theorems. They spent more time than Severus was comfortable admitting at the video rental store bickering over which movie they'd be watching next, and twice they'd even gone to the cinema. GoldenEye had been good—Severus had quite enjoyed the dashing spy character—but he had not been impressed with Pocahontas. When they left the theater, he'd looked at her very seriously and told her that if she ever took him to a film like that again, her body would never be found. He only hoped she didn't think he was joking.

Despite himself, Severus was beginning to admit to himself that Miss Granger would be a formidable colleague at Hogwarts. The girl had every note she had taken since she started at Hogwarts—including all of the courses she took to complete her Muggle secondary education. And, oh Merlin, the flash cards. He had no earthly idea how her classmates had restrained themselves from tearing her limb from bloodly limb. Clever as they were, her study plans and outlines were…obsessive. And she was a bossy little thing.

He'd reluctantly grown fond of the little chipmunk. He didn't want to disappoint her by getting bad marks on this placement test. Sighing, he hazarded a glance to the Gryffindor table. He could hardly see her, surrounded by her friends and classmates and yet with her nose stuck in a book.

As if she could feel his gaze upon her, she glanced up to the head table and, oddly, pointed towards the ceiling. Following her gesture, Severus saw an owl made of folded parchment fluttering towards the head table. He watched it, confused, until it landed on his scrambled eggs and, with a hoot, unfolded itself.

In two shimmering, gleaming words, his worries were eradicated.

_Good Luck!_

Glancing back at the wild-haired Gryffindor's encouraging smile, something clicked in his mind. Luck was exactly what he needed. Liquid, golden luck.

Severus practically sprinted to his store cupboard and barely took a breath until his long fingers wrapped around a phial of Felix Felicis. Good luck, indeed.

**A/N:** This was a short one, I know. A special thanks goes to **Stephiebob22**, **HPFanGirl01**, and especially **thisgrangergirlrocks** for their encouraging words after I posted the previous chapter. They meant a lot to me.

Lobalugs were in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. _GoldenEye_ (in which Pierce Brosnan is sexy) came out in November 1995. _Pocahontas_ was released in October 1995 (in the UK, it was released before that in the US).


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